Conflicting Hearts (8 page)

Chapter 7

Pinch Me

The wind blows into my face, and I close my eyes and tilt my
head back. Ian is behind me somewhere. For the moment, I’m lost in the
atmosphere that captures my soul. It’s cool—in fact it’s cold. I zip up my
jacket to my neck and pull my hood over my baseball cap. When I open my eyes
again, I’m greeted with the white, foamy waves of the Pacific Ocean pounding
the shore. Out in the distance are dark storm clouds. It won’t be long before
the rain arrives.

Suddenly, I feel Ian behind me. He slips both of his arms
around my waist and pulls me back into him. He lowers his head to the right
side of my face and gives me a peck on the cheek.

“Bit chilly,” he says, tightening his grip upon my
midsection. My eyes remain fixed on the horizon until I’m suddenly aware of an
erection pressing against my derrière. I don’t know whether to run, cry, or
laugh. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the need of a male against my body,
I’m not sure how to react.

 “Yes, it is, but I don’t care.” I tug away from him,
and he releases me. When I turn around, I can see heat in his eyes, but a
slight frown on his face.

“Race you to Haystack Rock.” I tease him with a wink and
find my footing on the hard sand where the waves play games getting me wet.

“You’re on,” he says, and off he goes, flying ahead of me.

“Hey, you!” I yell at the top of my lungs. He doesn’t stop.
Before I know it, I’m out of breath, and I’ve caught up to him. The tide is
coming in, and the waves are getting higher and more frequent.

“Okay, I concede, you won,” I admit.

 He flashes a smile. “Looks like the rain is coming
sooner than later,” he says, looking at the clouds out on the horizon.

 I try and ignore the threat.

“Do you want to keep walking down the shore?” Ian grabs my
cold hand and holds it tight.

“Yes, and then find a place in the sand to sit. I brought a
little blanket,” I announce, patting my backpack.

“Okay,” he says, drifting off in a weird way. He has a
strange look on his face, but I shrug it off.

We start strolling down the beach, heading into the oncoming
wind. The waves are pounding the shore with a roar. I’m in a fantasyland, where
nothing hurts me and nature tenderly caresses my wounded soul. After a few
minutes, I spot a perfect spot by a large driftwood log that has rolled up on
the beach.

“How about we sit over there,” I suggest, pointing in the
direction of where I want to head.

“Looks good.”

Ian grabs my hand and pulls me through the sand I’m now
struggling to walk in. With every step that I sink, I can feel my shoes filing
up with the beach.

We reach the log, and I throw down my backpack and fish out
the old blanket. It’s big enough for two. I set up camp, plop down, and Ian
follows suit. He slips his arm around me and tugs me close. When I look up at
him, he’s staring into my eyes with a smile that tells me that he wants more. A
moment later, his lips give me another sweet kiss.

His mouth is always tender and non-evasive. I wonder if he
even knows how to French kiss, because I haven’t once felt his tongue. The
reserved behavior surprises me, because he’s not as aggressive as I secretly
hoped. Maybe, he’s taking it slow. When I think about it, that’s probably wise
because I’m an easy lay, and I’m not going to brandish that poor quality of my
character. At least not yet, I smirk inside.

“God, I so love it here,” I breathe out in complete
satisfaction. I don’t care that the wind is pounding my face, or that I feel a
chill from the cold sand underneath the blanket. It’s been far too long since
I’ve visited the coast, and I chide myself for not leaving my cave more often.

Ian is quiet, and I watch him stare out at the horizon as if
he’s deep in thought. We leave each other to our musings until I feel a drop of
rain splat on my cheek.

“Don’t tell me that was a raindrop.” I pout, as another
pelts me on my nose.

“Afraid so, sweets.”

“Damn!” I growl. Next I know, the heavens open up, and it’s
a torrential downpour. Oregon weather is as unpredictable as my period. I don’t
want to leave this lovely moment, but I’m afraid we have no choice.

“Geesh!” I complain, as the rain begins to fall harder.

Ian stands up and pulls me to my feet. “Give me your hand,
and let’s run for cover.”

I quickly stuff my damp blanket into my backpack, and we
sprint down the beach, back toward the public parking where we left the SUV. By
the time we arrive, we’re soaked to the bone. The rain continues to pelt us
both as we jump into the SUV. We slam shut the doors, and I quickly glance over
at Ian. His hair is drenched, and he looks as sexy as hell with his dripping
locks.

“I know a place we can go to dry out,” he announces.

He places the key into the ignition, pulls onto Hemlock
Street, and heads south down the coastline. We leave the outskirts of town
behind. A minute or two later, he turns right down a street that heads back
toward the ocean. I glance over at him, wondering where we’re going. His face
is expressionless, but there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Where are we headed?” I’m thoroughly confused now.

He smirks like a roguish teenager. “My beach house.”

“Your what?” The words fly out of my mouth as he pulls into
the driveway of a beautiful home that sits smack dab on the ocean front. I’m
stunned.

“It’s my house, Rachel. Come inside and let’s get you warmed
up.”

Panic floods through my veins, along with anticipation of
what getting me warmed up insinuates. If he touches me, I’m toast.

He helps me out of the car, leads me to the front door, and
fiddles with his keys until he finds the right one. It fits in the lock, and
the next I know I’ve been ushered into his home in Cannon Beach. God, talk
about a dream come true! My wide eyes gawk at my surroundings, while he takes
my wet jacket. He kicks his shoes off, and stomps his feet to get rid of the
sand.

“Leave your shoes at the door, and I’ll go light a fire.”

I look inside where he’s headed and see a magnificent stone
fireplace on the right. Walls of windows from the floor to the cathedral
ceiling look out over the stormy Pacific Ocean. The interior is decorated
throughout in warm earth tones. It is so gorgeous that I want to cry.

After removing my shoes and wet socks, I brush the sand off
my toes and leave a pile of dirt at the front entrance. I feel awful for
messing up his house. For a brief moment, I’m frozen as I take in my surroundings,
and then I slowly shuffle my way into the interior.

Off to the right is a staircase that leads to what appears
to be a bedroom loft upstairs. I gulp. To the left is a kitchen and dining
area, and another bedroom. I see a desk and computer inside, and figure it’s
his home office. Straight ahead, Ian strikes a match to the kindling. A moment
later, it pops and cracks as the fire catches and starts to burn. He turns and
looks at me like a mischievous little boy that got his hand caught in the
cookie jar.

“This is home for me, for the most part, Rachel. I only have
a small apartment in town, much like your own. I work so much, all I do is
sleep there, but when I want to live and relax, I come here during the weekend
and on my days off.”

“Oh, my God,” I breathe, in secret jealousy. “You’re so
fortunate, Ian.”

“Oh, I don’t look at it that way, really.” He seems
embarrassed and looks over at the fire. “Yes, it’s gratifying to be here on the
ocean, but it’s no fun being here alone.”

I’m chilled to the bone, and my lower lip is quivering.

“We have to get you out of those clothes and throw them in
the dryer. Your lips are blue.” He looks at me for a moment. “I suppose you
don’t have anything to change into,” he says, with a knowing smirk across his
face.

“No, I hadn’t planned on this detour,” I reply. He nods
toward the bedroom upstairs.

“You’ll find a robe behind the door in the bathroom. Go take
those things off, and throw them down to me. I’ll put them in the dryer.”

I’m petrified of what is upstairs. He sees my hesitation. My
feet are planted in cement, and I can’t move.

“Listen, Rachel, I’m not going to take advantage of the
situation, I promise.”

Ian reaches over and strokes the side of my cheek with the
palm of his hand. His eyes look sincere. The fire is warm, and I’m cold.

“Okay,” I reply, answering with my favorite acquiescent
word.

I trot up the stairs, and turn around to see the view from
the railing. His bedroom looks over the massive great room below, straight to
the ocean. Behind me is a large king-size bed, covered in multiple throw
pillows and a brown satin comforter. I see a door to the right and assume it’s
his bathroom, so I head in that direction. Sure enough there’s a robe hanging
where he said it would be.

Hurriedly, I hide and start stripping. I’m shivering. When I
look into the mirror, I see that my lips are blue. I glance about the bathroom,
but don’t touch anything. My panties and bra are dry enough to keep on, so I
wrap his robe around me and tie it tight.

“Hey, toss me your clothes,” he yells up at me.

My arms wrap around the pile, and I walk to the railing.
He’s looking up at me with his head tilted back. “Here you go.” I let them fly
down to his feet. Ian picks them up, and then disappears toward the kitchen,
where I’m assuming there is a utility room somewhere with a washer and dryer.

I don’t descend the stairs right away, but stand at the
railing and get lost in the view through the floor to ceiling windows. It must
be spectacular when the winter storms roll in. I close my eyes and imagine us
together on the floor in front of a roaring fire, with the sound of rain
pelting the windows and the roar of the waves outside. I can’t think of
anything more that I’d love to experience. Maybe I will in a few minutes. My
heart rate increases over the thought, as I make my way downstairs to bask in
the unique fairytale backdrop.

“Your clothes are in the dryer,” he announces, giving me a
grin. “I’m going upstairs to change. Be right back.”

The fire beckons me to approach. The warmth is filling the
room. I’m thinking that it’s ingenious, as the hot air will rise to warm the
loft upstairs. A large, brown couch faces the fireplace, and I plop myself on
it. My nose catches the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Before I know
it, he’s back in loose sweat pants and a tight tee shirt.

“I should have given you a pair of these,” he says, looking
at me enticingly in his bathrobe.

“Oh, I’m okay. It’s warm.” The robe is way too large for me,
and I feel like I’m caught in his perpetual embrace. I’m enjoying the secure
feeling of being wrapped in something he owns.

“You want a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, God, yes,” I reply, jumping to my feet and following
him into the kitchen to snoop around. “Wow, nice.” He remains casual while I
ogle.

“Cream? Sugar?” He fills my mug to the top.

“Just cream.”

The refrigerator door opens, and there’s plenty of food
inside. I surmise he must come here every weekend, and suddenly I feel
terrible. He should have been here yesterday, relaxing, but instead he spent it
with me.

Ian looks at home and calm. My eyes rove over his toned,
bare arms. He definitely lifts weights with those biceps. His taut chest,
underneath his tight tee, teases the hell out of me, which make him look
smoking hot. Thank God, his sweat pants are loose. I eye the dangling string
I’d like to loosen so I can peek behind the curtain.

He clears his throat as his eyes catch me during my
examination of his goods. I can see he’s pleased with my exploration, but
suddenly I’m blushing like a school girl. I take the cup and lower my gaze into
the brew. “Sorry,” I mumble. I hear him chuckle under his breath.

We sit down on the couch and start sipping the coffee,
staring at the fire together. The rain continues to fall in a steady stream,
and I look at the clock above the mantel. It’s only just noon, so we don’t have
to drive back to the city yet. As I sip the warm drink, my mind wanders. He’s
already flopped one arm over my shoulder, while he holds his cup in the other.

“Did you own this place when you were married?” I’m curious,
of course.

He tilts his head down. I’ve hit a sore spot, and I wince,
sorry that I asked the question. I can tell he honestly doesn’t want to answer
it, but he does anyway. He looks at me with that same sad, screwed-up look.

“Yes.”

I feel disappointed, because now my mind runs to his bed
upstairs imagining the two of them together. The romance of it all sort of
takes a step back, because I bet there are memories underneath that brown
comforter.

“Yeah, I gave her the house in town, and I took this one in
the divorce. She didn’t care,” he says, pulling his mouth to one side. “Susan
doesn’t enjoy being here.”

“Oh.” It sounds strange to me, until he explains.

“She’s more of the city lights, city-type girl. I’m more of
the laid back, get-me-out-of-the-city-type guy. It was a substantial difference
between us.”

My favorite one word comment pops out between my lips.
“Okay.” I don’t know what’s okay about it, because suddenly I feel terribly
sorry for Ian.

“You hungry?” He changes the subject and forces a grin.

“Um, a little.”

We head off to the kitchen, and for the next few hours I
feel like the two of us are playing house together. I enjoy the fantasy, and he
seems comfortable with it as well. We eat a sandwich, talk, sit by the fire,
watch the storm, a little television, and relax until the hours slip away. He’s
being a perfect gentleman, for which I’m happy and disappointed all at the same
time.

When the clock reaches five, I feel like he’s getting antsy.
Maybe he wants to get back to Portland, and I don’t blame him. The drive back
will be miserable in the rain. Before we go, I really want an intimate moment.